


Jack Be Nimble

by FrostInTheWarren



Series: Jack's Panties [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: (And sometimes it is), Accents? What are accents?, Bunny likes it when Jack wears lingerie., By lingerie I mean Jack has a thing for babydolls, Crossdressing, Cupcake is amazing., Hurt/Comfort, Jack needs a hug., Lingerie, Lingerie isn't always sexual., M/M, No full-blown sex., Oneshot, Or a prequel., Putting Jamie at 10 in movie and Sophie at 7 for reasons, Sexual Content, The one where Cupcake is Jack's undie supplier., The one where Jack has some confidence issues., The one where Jack likes to wear women's lingerie., There may be a sequel., Tissues? Maybe? Nah., and panties.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostInTheWarren/pseuds/FrostInTheWarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jack Frost finally sates a burning curiosity for women's lingerie, and Cupcake proves to be a fantastic enabler.<br/>(Or: Jack has confidence issues, Cupcake helps, and Bunnymund benefits from it in the end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack Be Nimble

**Author's Note:**

> My first contribution to the fandom. There are other things in the works, a few multi-chapters and more one-shots, so those'll happen eventually. For now I'll just post whatever I find myself struck to write.  
> NOTE: I made Jamie 10 and Sophie 7 for the movie-verse, for reasons. This story takes place about nine years later.
> 
> QUICK NOTE: Fixed that stupid parsing thing. It was really starting to bug me too, guys.

Know how sublime a thing it is  
To suffer and be strong.  
\--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, _The Light of the Stars_ in Voices of the Night, 1839

* * * * *

“Jack? What’s taking you so long? Jamie and—”  


Jack jumped, the glossy pages slipping from his fingers as he dropped the Victoria’s Secret catalog. It landed rumpled on the table, but Jack paid it no mind as he turned around, stuffing his hands in his pockets and smiling at the nineteen year old in front of him. “Hey Cupcake.”  


Cadence “Cupcake” Miller rolled her eyes fondly, crossing her arms over her chest. She flicked her gaze across Jack’s face, and he firmly hoped he was projecting the kind of nonchalance that would assure her that _no, of course he hadn’t been reading that!_  


“Were you looking at women’s lingerie?” Apparently he wasn’t. Jack’s smile stiffened at the corners, but rather than wait for his answer she continued, “ _Why_ were you looking at women’s lingerie?”  


“Just curious.” He shrugged, focusing his attention on her forehead. It was hard to play it cool when you couldn’t muster up the courage to look someone in the eye. “You know, pretty girls and stuff. I am a guy after all.” That last line hadn’t come out nearly as cocksure as it had sounded in his head.  


“Jack, you’re not the type to perve on girls in a Victoria’s Secret catalog.” She paused, face pinching in thought. “Or girls in general, for that matter.”  


 _That_ made him jolt. “What?” Now he did meet her eyes, and the frank honesty proved he would be unable to lie his way out of this truth.  


That didn’t stop him from trying.  


“Psh-aw.” He drew a hand out and waved it dismissively. “As if. How could you even tell if that were true?”  


Her expression was so unimpressed he could turn diamonds from the air and she wouldn’t have cared. “Jack, you can’t watch _Sherlock_ without blushing.”  


He bristled, a cool frosty blush curving over his cheeks in reluctant confirmation. “The man has a Godly voice!” he snapped, and then the blush faded as a sudden wariness turned his eyes downward. “You’re not…upset?”  


“Why would I be?” Cupcake’s arms dropped, and she tried to catch his eye.  


Jack gave a small shrug, gaze still firmly on the floor. “Not everyone approves of that sort of thing.” When he chanced a small glance at her face, the softness that had gentled her usually hard features made him relax.  


“Jack,” she said, and there was no room for falseness or cruelty in her tone, “you’re my friend. I don’t care who you find attractive, as long as it makes you happy.”  


Jack finally met her eyes, and the tightness in his frame eased. A grateful smile turned his lips. “Thank you, Cupcake.”  


She smiled back, before her attention shifted to the rumpled catalog behind him. “Now, about that catalog…”  


He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, his cool form of a blush frosting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “It’s nothing. I really was just curious.” The same ‘curious’ he’d been for the past sixty years, when he first saw a pink and green babydoll hanging on the line in a woman’s back yard. The styles had changed a lot since then, for the better, but he could still remember his initial reaction to seeing it, to touching it. Wondering at the light material and how soft it was and _what would it feel like against his own skin?_ The thought had startled him, but it was one that had persisted in the back of his mind ever since, and with the acceptance and open abundance of such things in recent decades, it was a thought that was growing in prominence as well.  


Cupcake came to stand beside him, picking up the catalog and thumbing through the pages. Her eyes scanned across the pictures, her gaze assessing when she turned to him. “Do you want one?”  


Jack startled. “W-what?”  


“Do you want one?” She held up the catalog.  


“I…” Jack’s eyes searched everywhere but her, his shoulders hunching. He looked hunted. “…yes?” It came out quiet, hesitant and embarrassed.  


Cupcake nodded, dropping the catalog back onto the table. “Come on, then. We’ll go to my house and order it online. More variety, and we can find one you like. Besides, this catalog is Sophie’s anyway.”  


Jack sputtered as Cupcake grabbed his arm, steering him firmly so he barely had time to grab his staff from where he’d leaned it next to the front door. “What about Jamie?”  


She gestured dismissively. “I’ll just tell him I had an assignment I forgot to turn in before Christmas break and the professor wants it by tomorrow. Now come on. I think we should look into something blue.”  


An hour and a half later they had found one he liked, though not in blue. Jack offered to find some way to repay her, but Cupcake refused.  


“It’s going to be Christmas in a week, and it should be here before then, so we’ll just consider it a present, okay? It was on sale anyway.”  


Jack, still embarrassed but touched, hugged her with all the joy that he was.  


* * * * *  


She gave him the package the morning before Christmas. He’d just finished putting the white in White Christmas when he stopped in to say hi, and she shoved the small clothing box in his hands. He hugged it to his chest like it was something precious—  


— _and in a way, it was; his first gift in over three hundred years_ —  


—thanked her, and headed to North’s. He’d taken to helping out his fellow Guardian on Christmas Eve with the sleigh packing and preparations. It meant something to him that he was trusted enough to help with the precious holiday. (Almost as much as the room North’d had made for him, before Jack had ever said a word about his homelessness. Jack found he spent many a night in that room these days, even with all the traveling he did.) With all the rushing around, Jack didn’t get the chance to open the package until late Christmas night.  


North’s Christmas parties were a thing to be admired. Considered the party of the year, spirits of all shapes, sizes, and seasons clamored for one of the coveted invitations. The party began the moment North returned Christmas morning from his deliveries, and carried on long into the night.  


Jack watched the stumbling, drunken spirits and Gods (the Asgardians could only hold their liquor for so long after Loki spiked the already alcoholic punch), anticipation churning his stomach. Totally sober himself, Jack had no problem warding off those who entreated him to stay when he announced he was heading to bed.  


He entered his room on light feet, firmly shutting the door behind him. His staff was set against the wall, and Jack approached the bed with quiet steps. He pulled the box from its hiding place beneath the bed, and hesitated before opening it. Staring at the box resting innocuously on the blue quilt, he found doubt beginning to creep along the fringes of his mind.  


Jack clenched his trembling fingers into tight fists, summoning up the curiosity, the unexplainable _want_ that had burned in his heart for the past sixty years, and tore open the box before he could completely second guess himself.  


The babydoll was black. A black ribbon bow nestled innocently between two small cups that Jack had no hope of filling, breastless as he was. Slowly, he picked it up by the thin spaghetti straps, letting it hang in his grip. He admired the ruffled edges and fine quality of the material, silky and sheer. It felt delicate in his hands, and his heart gave a few extra thumps at the thought of wearing it himself. He set it aside for later in favor of the other garment in the box, the one Cupcake had talked him into. He had been more hesitant about the panties than the babydoll, but when Cupcake insisted he had to have the matching set he’d reluctantly allowed her to order them.  


They were strange in his hands. Low-cut and covered in rows of ruffles, he felt an unexpected interest perk in his gut at the thought of wearing them; more potent and tangible now that he was actually capable of doing so, and not just imagining it with the picture on a computer screen.  


He put them down and mustered up his courage, stripping down until there was nothing left covered. He decided to try the babydoll first, lifting it above his head. It was like water on his frame, rippling and flowing down his skin to rest just on his hips. He stretched his arms above his head, testing the feel of it, and noticed that his bellybutton peeked just under the hem at the motion. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the panties.  


Decidedly more nervous about these, he was slower to put them on. But eventually they were sliding up his legs to rest below the babydoll’s hem on his waist. He blushed heavily at the way they cupped him; cool, gentle and intimate.  


Done, Jack sat on the side of the bed, took a deep breath, and raised his head to look in the large mirror across from him on the wall.  


He nearly didn’t recognize himself. Pale skin, so much more than he was used to seeing, covered as he usually was, and long limbs contrased the darkness of the babydoll and panties. He’d feared that his paleness would make the black seem harsh, a condemnation rather than a compliment. He’d been wrong, luckily.  


Jack stood, approaching the mirror to get a better look, and his previous nervous fluttering had morphed into a fantastic thrill. The babydoll slipped across his skin with the sway of his steps, the panties cupping his bottom in a way that was strangely empowering. The entire experience was oddly intimate, the brush of ruffled hems and material the closest he’d gotten to a loving touch.  


Staring in the mirror, Jack’s eyes took in every inch of smooth skin and black ruffles. He’d never considered the idea of attractiveness in relation to himself. There were no spirits that had ever shown any sort of interest before, with his ratty hoodie, fraying trousers and too-thin frame. The thought had been easily dismissed in the negative.  


But now, in front of this mirror and filled with a newfound confidence that brightened his eyes, Jack Frost could say with all assurance that he felt beautiful. As feminine as that sounded, and as false as others may find it, it rang with a surety in him that raised his chin a fraction and softened his mien.  


Running his fingers along the skin of his clavicle, he was unable to stop the thought that flit across his mind like a burning trail of fire.  


_What would fur feel like on his skin?_  


The blush that claimed his cheeks, neck, and skimmed the tops of his shoulders was fierce and thick with frost. He pressed the heels of his hands against closed eyes, groaning in embarrassment. Now was not the time to be having fantasies about Bunnymund. No matter how much he’d longed for it for so many years. No matter how much he admired the last Pooka warrior for his strength and determination, his devotion to the children he protected. No matter how much he’d come to respect the care Bunnymund put into each and every last egg he created. No matter how much Jack lo—  


He quickly put a firm clamp on his wandering mind, but wasn’t swift enough for his heart. It thumped a firm rhythm in his chest, each beat suffused with a desperate hope he was usually so careful to dampen.  


Grinding the heels of his palms harder into his eyes, Jack took a long, deep breath. He almost hated that Bunny did this to him, that the loathing he’d once felt had melted, chased away by the gentle thaw of spring and a growing realization that Bunny wasn’t quite all hard-work and deadlines. It was definitely a part of him, but beneath the gruffness and scowls was a healthy sense of humor and a vein of loneliness that ran deep and heavy. Jack resonated with loneliness; understood it with a kind of familiarity that lingered in his sighs. As the realization that _maybe they weren’t so different after all_ became more and more apparent, Jack found himself seeking out the other Guardian to explore this possibility deeper.  


And then the day came when Bunny had laughed with him, and Jack had suddenly been all but lost to warm green eyes and a heady voice.  


Jack lowered his hands, and nearly flinched at the longing he saw in his own eyes. He sighed, and tempered his own heart. He would not linger on Bunnymund this night.  


Resolutely, Jack wandered the room, letting confidence fill him with every step in his new lingerie. He pushed Bunny from his mind as best he could, focusing instead on the enjoyment he felt. He wondered what it would be like to fly with this on. It would never happen unless he went to Antarctica to be absolutely certain he was alone, but after what happened with Pitch that was definitely not happening.  


That night, glorying in the silky smooth texture of the babydoll and panties, Jack slept feeling more secure in himself than he had in a very long time. The next morning the lingerie was hidden once more, and his friends were none the wiser as to what he’d been up to.  


* * * * *  


Jack continued to wear his lingerie on nights he was certain to be left alone. Usually this was when North was meeting with Ombric, or went to visit Tooth in her palace. Those were good nights; nights filled with self-assurance and deep-seated satisfaction. In the months after he felt more confident in himself, and it showed. He wasn’t as quick force himself into helpfulness, the uncertainty that had once plagued him that his presence was a burden had lifted. In simple terms Jack was _happier_ , and his center glowed all the more for it.  


He took quickly to the panties the more he wore them, and there were some days he wore them with his regular clothes when he felt he needed the confidence boost. The quiet knowledge that beneath his frayed trousers he wore the delicate scrap of beauty was potent and thrilling.  


He was surprised when Cupcake gifted him a second set the next Christmas Eve, making it clear in no uncertain terms that this is going to be a reoccurring thing and to expect more in the years to come. Before he left, he made a unicorn of ice and put it on her windowsill. It was the closest thing to a present he could give, and the closest he could get to payment that she’d accept.  


He waited until Christmas night once more, slipping away when the drunkenness had taken hold of the guests and headed to his room with frantic anticipation.  


This babydoll was red, and had faux laces of thick black ribbon up the back. Black roses bordered the bottom, which fell further than his black babydoll to rest at his mid-thigh. Thick spaghetti straps crossed his thin shoulders. The panties for this set were called cheekies if Cupcake told him right, and were as red as the babydoll. Small chiffon flowers were sown on the sides at the hips. Jack’s heart was as warm as his blush was cool when he slept in it that night.  


He dreamed of Bunny.  


* * * * *  


“Watcha doin’, Cottontail?”  


Aster gave Jack a look that was more fond exasperation than true annoyance. Such a thing had become more and more common lately, and was continuing to develop ever further in that direction as time went on.  


“Frostbite,” he greeted. Watching Jack come to rest beside him, Aster relaxed. He observed Jack from the corner of his eye, how calm and peaceful the other was, and a tiny smile bud on his lips. He remembered how Jack used to be. The boy’d flit around with no aim other than to bring winter, never settling, never resting. (Never sleeping either, as they’d eventually come to discover. Apparently Jack’d had a bad run-in with a bear during a nap early on in his spirit-hood, and hadn’t taken the risk since. They’d been quick to change that.) Jack had fairly vibrated in his skin; too earnest, too excitable, and overall just _too much_. And far, far too vulnerable.  


It was strange to think that such a powerful spirit was so easy to hurt. After the incident with Pitch, Jack’s uncertainty had reared its head in a big way. He’d fairly attached himself to each of them for a time, all smiles and laughter and _here let me help you_ s. It had taken them a year to figure out what Jack had been doing, and even then they’d only discovered it because Jack had passed out in the middle of a meeting. Jack’s pain-killer induced furtive pleas to _please don’t be angry, I just wanted to be useful, I don’t want you to send me away, please don’t leave me **alone** again _had fairly made his fur stand on end. They were still working on Jack’s abandonment issues, but he seemed to be getting better in recent years.__  


Aster _had_ taken the opportunity of a drugged-up Jack Frost to ask the question that had burned a hole in his tongue waiting to be asked.  


“Oi, Frostbite. The Blizzard of ’68, why’d you do it?”  


Even drugged and with an incredibly lax mind-to-mouth censor, the answer still came out halting and reluctant.  


“I wanted to see if it was possible to exhaust my magical core.”  


The look Aster’d given him was one of shocked horror. “Are you _daft_? Lesser spirits have been known to _die_ from doin’ that. Were you _trying_ to kill yourself?” He said the last part more for effect than actual wondering, but the reaction that followed sent his horror plummeting into his stomach.  


Because Jack’s wide eyes and stiff posture were almost as telling as his silence.  


The subject was quickly dropped, but a solemn understanding had been reached in Aster’s mind—Jack Frost was to never feel that way ever again.  


Since then Jack had settled a bit as a Guardian, both figuratively and literally. The new sense of purpose the position gave him had taken away some of the _too much_ , as Jack adjusted and began to fit into himself more. He had direction, now. He had aim.  


And he had a home.  


What a meeting _that_ had been, when they’d started rotating the meetings to each others' homes so Aster didn’t have to keep trekking through the snow around the North Pole and Jack had announced that he didn’t have a home for them to meet at. The room North had already given Jack had gained a lot of new things very quickly after that.  


Aster continued his sketch of a new egg design, looking over the field that housed the main tunnels his googies used to reach various continents. He realized that he’d sat here with Jack once before, a little Sophie in his arms.  


Jack really had been good with her. He was good with all kids, now that Aster thought about it. He played with them, looked after them, brought joy and fun and loved them with every bit of his center. The thought came unbidden that even by Pooka standards, Jack would be a very desirable catch. Good with kids, a strong warrior, beautiful…  


Aster blinked away the train of thought, confused and surprised with himself.  


“What do you want, Frostbite?”  


“Just thought I’d come visit you since Easter’s over. What are you drawing?”  


Aster flashed the sketchpad at him.  


Jack laughed, “You just finished Easter and already you’re getting to work again. You’re such a busybody!”  


Aster’s ears twitched as Jack laughed, noting the differences from now to before. Jack’s laugh now is fitting, comfortable—smoother than the ones he remembered from when Jack first became a Guardian. His laugh then was too boisterous, too big; a laugh that was trying to make up for the fact that there was no one to laugh with it.  


The first time Aster had laughed with Jack at a prank he’d pulled on North’s elves, Jack had immediately stopped. The confused awe on Jack’s face had been nearly painful to see. Then he’d smiled, small and sweet and grateful, and Aster had wanted to gather Jack into his arms and—well, it was best not to linger on that for too long.  


It was amazing how wrong he’d been in the majority of his assumptions about Jack Frost.  


The boy was a trouble maker, for certain, and proud of it to boot. But he was more responsible than Aster’d ever given him credit for, more careful and hardworking. It had been a shock to hear how much work Jack put into bringing winter, and then to make sure it was as safe as he could make it on top of that. Apparently many a child had been saved from thin ice thanks to Jack’s interventions.  


“Jamie’s been really ‘big brother’ with Sophie lately.”  


Jack’s words roused him from his thoughts. Apparently he’d realized this place’s significance as well. “Hm? How so?”  


“She’s dating Claude.”  


Aster dropped his pencil. “ _What?_ When-when did this happen?” A surge of protectiveness had him sitting up straight, attention focused solely on Jack’s smiling face. Sophie may be older—little sheila was seventeen now, wasn’t she?—but she still believed, and she was still his favorite little ankle biter, no matter how much she aged.  


Jack laughed again, and while it should have made Aster annoyed, instead it only calmed him down slightly. “Relax, you’re acting just like Jamie! Yeah he’s older, but only by three years. Besides,” Jack leans back on his elbows, his smirk mischievous, “I already gave him the shovel talk. He knows not to hurt her. Jamie gave him one too, but I think his involved a lot more shovel and a little less talk.” Jack’s gaze grew thoughtful as he stared into the distance. “I wonder if I’d have been that way with Emma.”  


Aster blinked, settling back down and picking up his pencil. “Who?”  


“My sister.”  


Aster very slowly set the pencil down again. He turned to the winter spirit cautiously, as though Jack’d bolt if he’s not too careful. “You have a sister?”  


“A long time ago.” Jack’s tone was soft but sure; he _wanted_ to talk about it, but was willing to hold back if Aster didn’t. “Before I became Jack Frost.”  


It took Aster a tremendous amount of self-control to hold his tongue and keep from blurting an over-zealous inquiry. Of course he wanted to know, they all did, but Jack had never said anything and so they had never asked. He had to force himself to speak clearly and hide how eager he was to _know _. “How did you become Jack Frost?”  
__

Whatever Aster had expected, it wasn’t what he got.  


“We were ice skating. It was her favorite thing to do in winter. I’d made the skates myself, just for her. We lived where Burgess is now, and we were using that lake we cornered Pitch on. It was the closest and best spot for miles around.  


“Anyway we were skating. The ice was thin in places, but we knew how to tell if it was safe. I should have reminded her to avoid that spot.” There was a twinge of regret in Jack’s voice. “But I didn’t. I should have, but I didn’t. So she forgot and skated right onto it. The ice cracked under her.”  


Aster listened closely, and was aware that no matter how close Jack’s body was, his mind was someplace far away.  


“She was so scared. But I told her it would be alright, that she wouldn’t fall in. I asked her to play a game with me; to _believe_ in me.” The raw meaning in the word choked Jack words for a moment, and he paused before he continued. “I got her to play hopscotch. I’d taken my skates off, and my staff was nearby. The ice I was on was thicker than where she was, but still cracked a bit under me. I got to my staff,” Jack was sitting up again now, and using his staff to make gestures with the story, “and had her make three steps. One,” Jack began reaching forward in the air with his staff, “two,” he was fully extended, eyes seeing something that wasn’t there, “three!” The staff hooked onto waist of an imaginary girl, and Jack yanked the staff back towards him, throwing the invisible person to safety. “I flung her to sturdier ice. I saved her…”  


Aster was beginning to see where this was going. Jack had done a great deed, and Manny had seen the potential so offered Jack the position. He’d done this with other spirits before. Aster opened his mouth to congratulate Jack for his act, but stopped when Jack continued to speak.  


“The movement swung me around, and I took her place instead.”  


Aster’s assumptions flew out the proverbial window. But no, surely not. Such a thing was practically unheard of.  


“The ice was already unstable from her weight, and while I may be kind of small for a guy, I’m still bigger than she was. There was enough time for me to see she was safe before the ice broke and I fell through.”  


Terror gripped Aster’s heart in a strangle hold. No. No, it couldn’t be.  


“I heard her scream, but the water was cold and dark, and I was scared. Luckily it didn’t last for too long. I passed out pretty quick before I died.”  


“You died.” Aster finally managed to find his tongue.  


Jack blinked, coming back into himself and shaking away the vestiges of memory. He nodded. “Yep. The next thing I knew it was night time and Manny had brought me back. He told me my name, but I didn’t know who I was or why I was there, or what my powers were. Everyone I saw walked through me.”  


“Why didn’t you ask other spirits?”  


Jack’s bitterly amused look at such a suggestion shouldn’t have been as upsetting to Aster as it was. “Are you kidding? Summer spirits hate me on sight, spring spirits aren’t much better. They’ve got this, ‘Jack kills everything he touches’ vibe going on. Autumn spirits are better, but they’re usually busy, and they get annoyed when I try to play with them. As for winter spirits…well, the majority of them are either sprites made by Mother Nature, or are the result of black magic and would sooner eat me alive than talk to me. The sprites are pretty cruel when it comes down to it, too, and I’ve yet to meet one that liked me.”  


Jack’s shallow grin made Aster give in to the urge that’d been prickling across his muscles since Jack admitted to his death, and he drew the deceptively small boy into his arms. Jack was frozen, arms hanging uncertainly at his side as Aster resisted the urge to chin him. Finally Jack’s pale hands came up to clasp Aster’s shoulder blades, and he nuzzled his face into the soft fur of Aster’s chest.  


“Thank you for telling me,” Aster murmured. He felt a sense of satisfaction that of all the Guardians, _he_ was the one Jack had decided to tell, and he swiftly squashed it down.  


Jack nodded into his chest, tightening his grip.  


They stayed like that for a while, all warm fur and cool skin, before Jack drew away, embarrassed and blushing frost down his neck. (Aster wondered how far down the blush went, and had to bite his tongue to stave off the following reaction.) Jack left, slightly awkward but thankful. Aster thought he saw a flash of red at Jack’s waist when he bent to pick up the staff he dropped during their hug, but then Jack was gone and Aster let it go.  


It wasn’t important.  


* * * * *  


Jack continued to visit the Warren. Sometimes for pranks that Bunny handled good-naturedly, sometimes just to talk. (Bunny was a very good conversationalist. When he wasn’t being a fluffy grump, he was pretty insightful and laughed at a lot of Jack’s jokes. It was nice.)  


That year Cupcake gave Jack a pale yellow babydoll of translucent chiffon. This one was a higher cut at the top and brushed his thighs, but was also strapless. Being able to see his nipples through the chiffon made his stomach clench and called the ever-present blush the lingerie gave him. The underwear brought the flush to his clavicle.  


A thong. Cupcake had gotten him a _thong_. It was pretty enough, the same yellow as the babydoll and with lace edging, but it was the principle of the matter! Nibbling his lip, Jack decided _to hell with it_ and put it on. He was grateful at least that the actual ‘thong’ bit was thicker than he usually saw.  


Just as it had been with the first set of panties, Jack came to like the thong as well. The extra exposed flesh added a new element to the ensemble, a fresh excitement that brought about the first stirrings of arousal.  


That night Jack gave in to his urges. He did so with Bunnymund’s name on his lips, and a declaration of love that he managed to voice aloud for the first time. It was stuttering, nervous, and tripped on his tongue clumsily before hovering unanswered in the air. When he finished it was with a lax body and heavy heart.  


Because joy is light, and hope? Hope is a terribly heavy burden to bear.  


(He wondered how Bunny did it.)  


* * * * *  


They did continue to grow closer, but it was done slowly. Jack was hesitant and reserved, whirlwind-ing in and flitting back out before Bunny had a chance to notice the leaden hope that had taken root in his chest.  


It was October when Jack decided to start avoiding Bunny more, barely visiting and sticking around after the weekly meetings only long enough to throw one half-hearted tease before he was out the nearest window. This continued until Christmas, at North’s yearly party.  


Jack stuck himself in a corner for the night, anxious to get to his room and try on his newest present. Cupcake had hinted that this time there was something special inside, and he was eager to find out what it was. He looked around at the milling guests, biting the inside of his lip. He knew it was too early to leave; the only one drunk was Puck, and some spirits had yet to even touch their liquor. But the curiosity was eating away at him, so he rocked on his heels and decided to take a chance.  


He was halfway to the upstairs staircase when his arm was caught in a strong grip.  


“There you are, Frostbite.”  


Jack turned quickly, forcing off the grip, and clutched his staff close to his chest as he swayed side to side. He grinned crookedly. “Bunny! What’s up?”  


Bunnymund crossed his arms, the look in his bright green eyes scrutinizing. “You’ve been acting off, mate.”  


“Whaaat?” Jack stopped his sway, drawling the vowel mockingly. “I’m just being me, Bun-Bun.”  


The other didn’t rise to the bait. Bunny’s nose twitched, his ears swiveling as he stared a hole in Jack’s face. “Don’t play with me, Frost. You’ve been acting wonky for months.”  


“Bunny you crazy,” he teased, and began backing away. “Now excuse me, I’ve got to—oomph!”  


Jack was forced to halt his retreat as he met a strange forcefield at his back. He turned, running his hand along what should be nothing but air, finding a solid resistance to his efforts. “What the…?”  


Bunny groaned, and began searching the area around them. “Not again. North and his bloody traditions.”  


“What? What traditions?”  


“Just a sec, mate—ah-hah!” Bunny plucked a sprig of mistletoe from the hanging basket at his side, just over their heads. “Enchanted mistletoe. Didn’t think he’d really break the stuff out again after what happened last time.”  


“What does it do?”  


“Well,” Bunny dropped the mistletoe on the ground, “now that we’ve walked under it, it won’t let us go from this spot until…” Bunny trailed off, looking Jack firmly in the eye.  


“Until what?” Jack breathed. A light frost dusted the top of his cheeks.  


“Until we’ve kissed, Jack.”  


Jack’s breathing stopped for a fraction of a second, and then he was laughing a tad too boisterously to be real. “Well I guess we’d better get it over with, then!” He approached boldly, every piece of his heart clamoring for attention.  


Bunny seemed to search for something in Jack’s face, and his ears drooped when he couldn’t find it. “Yeah, I suppose so.”  


Bunny’s hand pulled Jack into him swift and fierce, and he slanted his lips across the winter spirit’s in a flash of warmth and fur. Jack’s eyes went impossibly wide, but before he could reciprocate (his heart _thump-thump-thumping_ in his chest, and surely Bunny could hear it?) Bunnymund had drawn back.  


Jack stumbled as he was freed, stuttering, “W-well! Tha-that was c-certainly interesting!” He coughed into his fist, continuing to back away, his hope rising and surfacing and Bunnymund _must be able to tell, must see it in his face_.  


Jack escaped before he could crumble, and headed directly for his room. He had a gift to try on.  


* * * * *  


Aster sighed, nursing the same drink he’d had for the past three hours. He’d barely sipped at it, and while the rest of the party was making its way into the normal level of drunken debauchery, he was nowhere near buzzed. He swirled the glass, liquid skimming but not sloshing over the rim.  


“Bunny! What is wrong, friend?” North’s hand smacked Aster’s back, and he sloshed the drink on his fur.  


“North!” Aster glared heatedly at his clearly buzzed friend, setting the empty glass on the nearby table and attempting to mop the alcohol from his fur. “Watch what you’re doing, you gumby!”  


North waved his concerns away, taking another drink. “Calm down, Bunny. You are being down! Usually you are dancing on tables by now. What is problem?”  


Aster sighed again, giving up on his fur. He leaned on the wall, staring at the staircase he last saw Jack climbing. “It’s about Frostbite.”  


“Ah yes, you are worried for him.”  


He blinked in surprise. “Yeah, I am. He hasn’t been acting right. How did you—?”  


“Is because boy is in love with you. He will be fine.”  


Aster’s fur bristled. “ _What?_ ”  


North paused with his drink halfway to his lips. “He did not tell you this?”  


“ _No_.”  


North’s expression took on a frazzled appearance, and he cursed creatively in Russian for a moment, mumbling about the, ‘oblivious boy,’ and , ‘how was it he was the only one who noticed?’. “But you were kissing earlier! I saw you myself!”  


“That was because of your enchanted mistletoe, you big idiot!”  


North’s alcohol flushed cheeks became darker in embarrassment. “I am going to go—”  


“ _North_.” The tone was something North had rarely heard before, and it brooked no argument. “What do you mean?”  


North closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It is not my place to say,” he admitted. “You will have to ask Jack.”  


“Which room is he in?”  


“Upstairs, down the hall, make a left, third door on the right.”  


Aster was gone before he could finish the sentence.  


Aster’s heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings in his chest, hope, his very center rising up as everything he’d imagined, everything he’d denied himself these past years came to the forefront of his mind. He’d held back for Jack’s sake. Surely the winter spirit wouldn’t want to mate outside of his species? But if North was right…  


_If North was right…_  


He stopped outside Jack’s door, ready to knock, when a muffled sound came through the wood. He blinked, and placed his ear against the door.  


_“Bunny…aah…Bunny, I love…mmmff! Love you. Love you…love you—nnn…”_  


Aster drew back with wide eyes, the stirrings of primal heat in his abdomen and he just knew he was going to be peeking from his sheath soon.  


Well.  


He took a deep breath, opened the door, and his heart jumped into his throat as he caught sight of Jack Frost.  


* * * * *  


Jack writhed on the sheets, the experience more erotic than the last time he’d indulged in this. Cupcake hadn’t been lying about this year’s present. The babydoll was baby blue silk, opening at the front beneath his nonexistent bust. It was edged in white fluff, white chiffon flowers at the straps. Blue silk panties with an innocent white bow hugged his hips.  


But the special addition, now that had definitely been a surprise.  


A matching pale blue garter belt was comfortably nestled over the panties, the clips holding up a pair of white stockings that nearly blended with his skin.  


It hadn’t taken Jack long to find he liked the garments. Then hours later, lounging on the bed, his mind had wandered as it had the year previous to Bunny, and he found himself in this situation once more.  


Jack’s hand was clamped over his mouth, trying to muffle the noises he couldn’t help making. His legs rubbed together, attempting some sort of friction to combat the burning in his abdomen. His left hand was running across his chest, pinching and flicking pale flat nipples. “Haaa-aaah!”  


The rubbing was proving fruitless, so he pulled his left hand from under the babydoll and slid it down between his legs. He pressed the heel of his palm into the half-hard erection that was beginning to bulge out the front of his panties. In his mind his hand was warmer, larger, covered in soft fur.  


“Bunny…aah…Bunny, I love…mmmff!” He curved his fingers, firmly trailing them across. He continued his breathless confession to the Bunnymund in his mind. “Love you. Love you…love you—nnn…”  


The door opened, and it took Jack a moment to acknowledge the sound for what it was. He opened his eyes hazily, turning his head towards the door, and went stock still.  


Bunny was watching him with wide green eyes that were growing steadily darker as Jack watched, the Pooka’s pupils blowing wide.  


“Bunny!” Jack sat up, searching frantically for a pillow to hide behind, arms doing their best to cover what scant amount they could.  


“Jack.” Bunny entered the room, closing the door firmly behind him.  


Jack looked at the door with panicked eyes, scooting back on the bed as Bunny approached. “What are you doing here?” He scowled, defensive anger marring his visage. “If you’re here to…to _laugh_ at me—”  


“Not that, Jack.” Bunny reached the bed, and his gaze _burned_. “Say it again.”  


“Say what?” Jack’s hand fumbled for the pillow, finally bringing it around to his chest. He was only covered by it for a moment before Bunny had surged forward onto the bed and ripped it away once more. “ _Hey!_ ”  


“Say it again for me Snowflake.” Bunny was hovering in front of him now, his hand a warm weight that skimmed just above Jack’s shoulder. He locked Jack’s eyes with his, refusing to let them go. “Say you love me.”  


Jack’s face crumpled, fear and hope warring in his bleeding heart. “I can’t,” he whispered.  


Bunny approached again, and Jack leaned back to maintain their distance until he was lying flat on the bed, Bunny hovering over him. “Say it Jackie.” A soft furred hand ran up Jack’s arm. “Please.”  


And maybe it was the please, or maybe it was the dreadful, awful, heavy hope in his trembling heart, but Jack did. “I love you, Bunny.”  


Bunny took a long, deep breath. “Aster,” he finally said. “I want you to call me Aster, Snowdrop.”  


When Bunny leaned down to chin the top of Jack’s head, he could hardly smile for the breathless, wonderful joy that had lightened his heart. Jack prepared to wrap his arms around Bunny— _Aster_ —when he noticed the smell.  


Alcohol.  


The realization plummeted Jack’s heart. Of course. Of course, Bunny was drunk. Of course this wasn’t the meaningful moment he’d been longing for.  


But Bunny was here, and he was warm and chinning him, and it was the closest Jack had come to what he wanted and _damn it all but he’d take it_.  


Jack pulled Bunny down to him, ignoring the smell of alcohol and pressed kisses to everywhere he could reach on Bunny’s neck and chest. Bunny honked his surprise, the sound strange enough that Jack giggled into Bunny’s shoulder. At his laugh Bunny made a low, pleased rumbling sound.  


Jack whined when Bunny pulled away, taking with him the sensation of fur on his skin that he’d wondered at for so long, but Bunny shushed him. “I’m not done with you Snowdrop.” On his knees, Bunny lifted and drew Jack’s legs apart, settling himself into the cradle of Jack’s hips.  


Jack stared up at Bunny, confused. “Aster?”  


Bunny shuddered when he spoke. “All this time,” he said to himself, “and now here you are, spread out like a feast to mah eyes.” His hands slid up Jack’s legs, and he snapped one of the bands holding up the stockings. His accent, Jack noticed, had gotten thicker. “You look good in this, Snowdrop.”  


Jack blushed, and Bunny’s eyes followed the trail of frost down to Jack’s clavicle. “So that’s how far down it goes.”  


Jack gasped when Bunny’s hands pressed into the bulge of Jack’s panties, arching his hips in invitation. “Mmm, Aster!”  


“That’s right Snowdrop.” He began to stroke Jack to full mast through the silk, and Jack threw his head back. “Say mah name.”  


“Aaah-ster! Aster!”  


Jack snapped his half-closed eyes open when Bunny’s hand was replaced by something less wide, but hotter and heavier. He raised up on his elbows, mouth falling open when he saw the leaking red cock Bunny was now grinding into him. “Nnnaah!”  


Bunny’s grin was devious as he took a firm grip on Jack’s hips, thrusting swiftly and firmly. Bunny’s thighs smacked into Jack’s bottom with each motion, rocking the pale spirit up and down, bouncing him on the mattress.  


“A-Aster!” Jack stuttered through the jolts. “Don’t sto-op! Do-on’t stop!”  


“Didn’t plan to, Snowdrop.”  


Jack whimpered, holding his arms up and nearly pleading. “Aster, please, A-Aster!”  


Bunny came down into Jack’s embrace, and Jack wrapped his legs around Bunny’s waist. Bunny kissed his neck, nibbled his shoulders and licked a path from chin to lips. He kissed Jack, a simple press of lips that wasn’t forced or rushed and suddenly _it’s everything he’d ever wanted_. Jack moaned when finally Bunny’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Bunny was everywhere. He could taste him on his tongue, smell him in his breaths, feel him around and over him. It was strong and heady and wonderful in ways his imagination could never have hoped to match.  


And perhaps because it was tinged with the bitter smell of alcohol and might be the last chance he got, Jack let his heart bleed onto his tongue and spill over in his words. “I love you, Aster. I love you.”  


Bunny looked deep into Jack’s eyes, pupils so wide the green was a mere sliver in the impossibly heated void. “Your eyes are snowflakes,” Bunny noticed, and went to speak again, but it was then that their orgasms sneaked up on them and snapped the line of tension. Jack finished in his panties as Bunny’s seed splashed hot and thick across his stomach. Jack quivered, breathing heavy mists of frost in the air. Bunny gathered him into his chest, and Jack clung as close as he could.  


“Don’t leave,” he murmured, and he was almost ashamed at how much it sounded like begging.  


“Not going anywhere, Snowdrop,” Bunny assured. “Got too much to tell ya.”  


Content with the knowledge that, at least for now, Bunny wasn’t going to abandon him, Jack fell into sleep.  


* * * * *  


When he awoke, Jack was oddly warm considering how cool his room usually was. He kept his eyes closed for just a little longer, wanting to linger on the bittersweet dream of last night. He wanted to fall back into sleep, if only to try and prolong the fantasy of Bunny warm and soft against him, but doing so would only make it worse when he finally had to acknowledge the reality.  


Sighing, he opened his eyes lazily, and then immediately snapped up to full attention.  


He was not in his room at North’s.  


He was in a nest of pillows and quilts— _and twigs?_ —in what could only be a bedroom. Jack spotted his staff against the far wall, next to a ladder that led into a room above. He was in the Warren.  


Horror widened Jack’s eyes as he realized that the night before wasn’t a dream; that it had happened and that in his drunkenness Bunny had brought Jack back to his _nest_. (And if the feeling in Jack’s lower extremities was anything to go by, had cleaned him up as well.)  


Jack climbed from the nest, desperately trying to ignore that he was still wearing his lingerie, hurrying to his staff and climbing the ladder. Perhaps he could slip out without Bunny noticing—  


Jack had climbed into the kitchen it seems, and Bunny was standing ten feet away hanging herbs to dry. He turned, ears swiveling as they detected the sound of Jack’s movements, and spotted Jack pulling himself through the hole.  


“Good morning.”  


Jack clutched his staff protectively, eyes darting around like a cornered mouse and blushing that Bunny was seeing him in this attire again. “I…I…,” Jack sputtered before noticing the exit to what appeared to be a garden to his right. “I’ll just go.”  


Bunny caught his shoulder before he could go two feet around the sturdy table. “Oi, why you leaving so quick?”  


Jack frowned, and confusion began to seep into his upset. “Look, I know you were drunk last night. I could smell it. We can…we can just pretend it never happened—”  


“Jack,” Bunny’s voice had lowered, and thank goodness that his eyes hadn’t left Jack’s face for one moment or Jack might have just died right there, “I barely had a couple of sips. North made me spill my drink just before I came to you.”  


Understanding dawned across Jack’s face, and it made Bunny smile. “You mean last night was…?”  


“All me, Snowdrop. Alcohol had nothing to do with it.” Bunny’s nose twitched, and he dropped his hands, turning away to look out the near window. There was something bashful in his voice now, such a charming contrast to last night’s smooth assurance. “Do you love me, Jack Frost?”  


Jack, for all that it's worth, didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes.”  


Bunny coughed into his fist, “Good,” and glanced slyly at Jack from the corner of his eye, “cause I love you too.”  


In an instant there was five foot ten inches of pale skin and lingerie in Bunny’s arms, kissing every inch of his face that Jack could reach. Bunny chuckled, and kissed him back.  


When Jack Frost cared about you, he did so with every word and action. But when Jack Frost _loved_ you, he did so with everything that he was, down to the last frayed edge and broken fragment in the crevices of his strong, bleeding heart.  


It's a gift Aster was humbled to receive, and overjoyed to reciprocate.

* * * * *

Where love is concerned, too much is not even enough.  
\--Pierre-Augustin De Beaumarchais, _The Marriage of Figaro_ , 1784

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm gonna splash in this fandom, I might as well try to make it big. What better way than by putting Jack in lingerie? I may write a sequel. Depends. Or a prequel, if I'm in the mood.


End file.
